Page 109 of Where Darkness Bloomed
His hands slid up her arms, settling at her shoulders, fingers brushing the edges of her chiton. Slowly, he drew the fabric open, easing it down. Itfell away, snagging briefly at her waist, then slipped away to the floor. Naked, every soft line of her was traced gold by the firelight.
For a suspended breath, he only looked. Then he sat back slowly from the edge of the divan, muscles coiled beneath stillness. He held himself there, unmoving, offering the moment to her.
Graceful, silent—she straddled him, her hands braced against his shoulders as her body met his. His hands slid to her thighs, settling against silken skin.
“Ride me, my queen,” he said, low and guttural, the words rolling from deep in his chest. “Take all that you would have from me.”
When her body sank onto his, his breath caught. Hers shattered in a shivered breath that he caught with his mouth as his lips met hers, drinking her in.
She rocked against him, tentative at first. Then again, bolder. Deeper. His hands found her hips, guiding her as her movements found rhythm, then purpose. Her palms pressed harder to his shoulders, grounding herself in him.
A storm gathered behind her gaze, fierce and bright. He watched it awaken, then build, her rising into it.
She was a force of nature in his arms, beautiful in her abandon, each motion drawing the breath from his lungs. He let her. Lord of the Underworld, yet he knelt to her in that moment—content to be ruled by the storm-soft roll of her hips, the whisper of his name on her lips.
He watched her in awe, eyes half-lidded and breath harsh, hands flexing against her skin, until—
She gasped sharply, her pace stuttering.
Then he moved, taking control from her and shaping their movements with the full strength of his body. His grip tightened at her hips, guiding her with dark precision. A slow, grinding thrust met her mid-motion, deep, exacting and sure.
She cried out, her brow coming to rest on his shoulder as she surrendered to the cadence he forged between them. He held her close, murmuring something rough and full of need as their bodies met again and again, faster, harder. As if he had studied the shape of her pleasure and now offered it back, refined and sharpened.
She drew tight around him as her release surged—raw and unrestrained. His name fractured on her tongue, and he devoured it like a sacred offering. He pulled her down hard onto him, his hips striking up one last time, then held her tightly in place as his body poured into hers.
Panting softly, she came down against his chest, her body molding to his. His arm draped heavily over her back, the other hand cradling the back of her head, fingers buried in her hair. They stayed like that, heartbeats thundering in shared silence.
The tremors eased, breath returning to them. She relaxed into him, limbs softening, her damp skin pressed to his as she let out a soft, contented sigh that filled his chest with warmth.
He withdrew from her with care, earning a soft murmur of protest. Then slowly, he rose, cradling her close as he carried them to the bed.
Cool blankets greeted them. He laid her down, then followed, his body folding around hers in a slow, deliberate descent. The dark swallowed them, thick as velvet, wrapping their entwined limbs.
With Persephone tucked into his chest, he took a slow breath—and with it,her. Sunlight. Rain-soaked earth. Wild life, fierce and growing.
For the first time in an age, he closed his eyes without care or concern. Peace came to him, deep and calm.
Wars could rage. Seas could boil. The stars could tip, falling from the heavens. But here, in the hush between her breaths, none of it mattered.
There was only this.
Only her.
Chapter 42
Wet sand clung to Achilles’s calves as the tide whispered in, cold seawater lapping at his legs.
Salt and wind tousled the air. Dark clouds brooded over the sea, heralding a coming storm.
A glint of color caught his drifting gaze. He bent, pulling a seashell free from the sand. Its scalloped edge gleamed, smooth and opalescent, as the tide rinsed the grit away.
The same kind he’d hunted in the shoals of Phthia as a boy. Then, he’d been sun-darkened and wild, diving through the tide pools while gulls wheeled overhead. From deeper waters, his mother and the other sea-nymphs had watched him, half-smiling, tending underwater gardens rich with coral and swaying seaweed.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her again—Thetis rising from the ocean, droplets adorning her hair like a crown of diamonds. Always, she had admired his treasures. Then she would begin her stories, tales spun like precious thread, ancient and edged in gold:
Pandora, whose curiosity courted ruin for humanity.
Heracles, whose trials of strength and sacrifice earned his place among the gods.
